


Welcome to the Hotel Phantasmagoria

by htbthomas



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Reveal, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28210554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/pseuds/htbthomas
Summary: The Hensey House Hotel was a quaint place, similar in size to Button House, the sitting room transformed into the lobby. It was a lot like what she and Mike had been hoping to do—which was why she was here, for a bit of research.
Relationships: Alison & Button House Ghosts (Ghosts TV 2019)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 74
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Welcome to the Hotel Phantasmagoria

**Author's Note:**

  * For [croissantkatie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/croissantkatie/gifts).



> Thank you to feroxargentea for the beta!

The snap of the room key on the counter turned Alison's attention from studying the hotel lobby—was that eight-light chandelier an original or a reproduction?—back to the desk clerk. "Enjoy your staaaay," the clerk said with a touch of ghost-like vibrato. 

Alison picked it up with a nod. "Thanks," she said, and started to roll her trolley bag toward the hallway where the clerk had pointed. The Hensey House Hotel was a quaint place, similar in size to Button House, the sitting room transformed into the lobby. It was a lot like what she and Mike had been hoping to do—which was why she was here, for a bit of research. 

"Well _that_ was offensive," Lady Button said with an audible sniff through the phone line. There was a grumble of assent from the other ghosts gathered around Button House kitchen table, where Mike had left the phone for them. He'd made an excuse and left—the hedges needed trimming or something. He hadn't quite got used to the strange one-sided conversations she could have with the ghosts over the phone. Lady Button continued, "No self-respecting ghost would _ever_ talk like that on purpose."

"Unless it was for _dramatic_ effect," Thomas argued. "I've found using an vocal affectation while reciting poetry to have an—"

The other ghosts groaned and drowned out the rest of what Thomas was saying. Mercifully.

"Perhaps he's never seen a real ghost," Alison told them. "We don't know yet whether this is actually a haunted hotel or not. I haven't seen any ghosts so far." Which was the other reason she was here. She lived in an actual haunted house—perhaps this was another way to monetise it.

As Alison lifted the key to the lock, she appreciated its heft—a sturdy antique-looking brass key, not one of those electronic key cards. A nice touch she would have to remember. It didn't slide smoothly into the lock, either. "Jiggle a little," said Robin, as if he had much experience with keys (he didn't). But that worked. 

"How did you know I was having trouble with the key?"

"It go clanka clanka. Me good ear."

Alison shrugged, and pushed open the door with one shoulder—almost directly into a housekeeper dressed in drab black Edwardian garb, brandishing a feather duster. Wow, they really went in for the authentic look here. "Oh! Sorry. If you're not finished, I can have a look 'round the rest of the hotel first."

The housekeeper's eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. Then she straightened, and dropped into a tiny curtsy. "Whatever you wish, ma'am." 

"Yeah, I'll do that," Alison said. "I'll just, um, leave this here, shall I?" She rolled her trolley bag beside the wall and gave it an awkward pat. "That was a bit weird," she told the Button House ghosts after she was back in the hallway. "Shouldn't the housekeeping have been done before I checked in?"

"Absolutely! Servants are to be neither seen nor heard!" Lady Button exclaimed, while the Captain said, "Extreme lack of efficiency, I see," and Julian put in, "Unless she was a titbit left as a welcome gift; I remember the time when—"

Alison wasn't in the mood to hear whatever Julian had been up to on one of his work trips. She flipped back to the video call she'd been on before check-in. She wasn't sure she'd be able to see them through the call, but she'd been pleased to discover that yes, she could see them, and hear them, just like audio calls. The ghosts, for their part, had been utterly amazed by it the first time. Perhaps it would shut them up now. And it did, for a few minutes, as she walked slowly past the other rooms, showing them the carpet runner, the paintings on the walls, a peek inside a room with a four-poster bed.

"Fantastic restoration!" Pat said. "I wonder how much of it is original to the estate?"

Alison noticed a small brass plaque tacked beside a window at the end of the hallway. _Original stained glass, Art Nouveau-style, c. 1907._ Alison was impressed. "Quite original, I'd say."

"I like pretty flower," Robin said of the window's design.

"I do, too," Alison agreed. She reached out a finger slowly toward it, to trace the edges of one glass petal—

"No touching!" said a sharp voice from her right, and Alison stumbled back a step. Where'd he come from? Even Kitty let out a yelp, though it was likely of delight.

Alison turned to see a rather tall, imposing valet type, frowning hard at her. He was also in costume—suit and tails, hair slicked down from a centre parting. "I'm sorry," she told him. It's just so beautiful."

Much like the housekeeper, he didn't respond right away, his frown deepening. He looked her up and down, eyes finally settling on the phone held out in her hand. "And no photography, either."

"I'm sorry," Alison said again. She was doing that a lot already. "Just showing my friends how lovely this place is. The authenticity is remarkable." She switched off the video call, to the groans of the group, and tucked the device into her pocket.

The valet's frown softened slightly. "We do try at Hensey House. Enjoy your stay."

"I will," she said, and turned back toward her room. Perhaps she could explore the west wing of the house or maybe the grand ballroom they'd advertised in the brochure. Which was—? She turned back to the valet to ask, but he was already gone.

Shrugging, Alison walked back down the hallway the way she'd come, surreptitiously taking her phone out again and switching the video call back on. "Where next, guys?"

"I'd rather like to take a turn about the gardens," Thomas said. 

"Is there a library?" the Captain added. "With a military history section?"

"Cans we watches the cookin's?" Mary wondered.

"Sure, I just need to find out where—" As Alison passed her room, she noticed the door was ajar. "Excuse me, how much longer do you think...?"

But the room was empty. Had the woman forgotten to close it and lock it? Pretty lax security at this hotel—her things were in here! She was going to have to say something to the owner.

But she noticed an en-suite bathroom—a nice touch. And a bit pricey. They'd need to spend a lot more time and money to install one in every room in Button House. 

"Alison, while the ceiling rose and decorative mouldings are lovely, may we have a look at the rest of the room?" Pat asked, his voice tinny from the phone's speaker. She hadn't noticed that she'd set the phone down when she came in.

"Oh, of course," she said, swiping the phone off the antique vanity, but as soon as she did, her fingers came back dirty, brown smudging two of the tips. Except for the place where the phone had been, and the dual streaks from her fingers, the wood was covered in a fine layer of dust, as if it hadn't been cleaned in weeks. "That's odd. Did she just... not clean at all?"

Maybe this hotel didn't attract many guests, so the rooms weren't cleaned often. After all, the only living souls she'd seen so far were members of the staff. Perhaps they booked her in the wrong room by mistake? She couldn't settle in here until she knew for sure.

"Where we go?" Robin asked, when she grabbed her trolley bag and started back toward the lobby desk. She knew the ghosts were only seeing the floor rugs now, but she could make it up to them later with a more leisurely tour.

"Excuse me," Alison said as she re-entered the lobby, but two heads popped up instead of one. The original desk clerk, and a new person she hadn't seen yet. Unlike the others, he was dressed in a modern jumper and trousers, engaged in straightening travel brochures on a table.

"How may I help you?" they both asked in unison.

"Hi, um." Her head swivelled back and forth between the two for a moment. "I'm staying in Room 8." The jumper-clad man took a step toward her first, so she addressed him. "My room hasn't been cleaned. There's a layer of dust over everything. Did you perhaps book me into the wrong room?"

"Not clean?" the desk clerk said, frowning. "Martha!" He picked up a bell and started ringing it. "Please report to the lobby immediately."

Alison felt a pang of worry. She hadn't meant to get anyone in trouble. "No, no, it's fine, really," she said, eyes on the floor. "I only wondered..."

"When did...?" Jumper-clad man said, a touch of confusion in his voice. He came close enough that she could see a name badge pinned there. Henry. His face cleared and he said, "I'm terribly sorry—we're understaffed at the moment, since my wife is visiting her mother. Normally we're ready for guests by now. Would you like another room?"

The desk clerk began to harangue the housekeeper off to the side, and Alison tried to ignore it, her embarrassment creeping higher. "If it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all, let me check your reservation." 

She gave him her full name once he was behind the desk and he typed it into a computer she hadn't noticed before. It seemed not everything was kept historically accurate. 

Henry's confusion deepened as he checked the reservations system. "I see your reservation... when did you check in?" Henry didn't seem to register how loudly the desk clerk and housekeeper were going at it now, even the valet power-walking down the hall to join in the fray. He must be used to it. Lord knew she'd got used to a lot of chaos swirling around her this past year.

Alison cupped a hand beside her eyes to block the sight, if not the sound. "Maybe... fifteen minutes ago?"

"...Fifteen?" Henry was full-on flummoxed now.

Alison dug out the key from her pocket and set it on the counter. Nodding in the direction of the arguing staff, she told Henry, "He checked me in."

Henry blinked a few times, cleared his throat. "...He?"

The arguing stopped. The desk clerk walked back to his post—straight through the desk. "What seems to be the trouble?"

Alison dropped her phone from fingers numb from shock, and it landed face up on the counter, the curious faces of the Button House ghosts staring out from it. She'd forgotten to turn off the camera. "Ee! That was fun!" Kitty said. "Like tumbling down a hill." Then she waved cheerily at the two men. "Helloooo!"

Correction. One man, one ghost. Alison swallowed. Looked like The Hensey House Hotel was haunted after all.

But then, to Alison's utter surprise, Henry waved back at Kitty. "Hello."

The ghosts on the screen gasped in shock and delight. "Is magic?" Robin wondered.

"You can... see them?" Alison asked, feeling a touch of something she never expected. Hope.

"Of course," said the desk clerk with a scoff. "I've seen a video call before."

Henry was still gazing straight at her without acknowledging the desk clerk. But she'd had a lot of practice doing that during wedding season herself. "I can see him, too," she said, lifting her hand and poking one finger in his direction. "And them," she added toward the valet and housekeeper.

Henry's face went through an entire kaleidoscope of emotion that landed on amazement. "You can?"

A lot of things made perfect sense now: like the uncleaned room and the authentic clothing. But how had he got his ghosts to cooperate with him so well? It was still a constant stream of traded favours and small battles won back at Button House. "You know what?" Alison said, pulling out her wallet. "Book me for a couple more nights. We've got a _lot_ to talk about."


End file.
